Perpetual Anticipation
by Chewing Gum
Summary: A new generation of the Holmes clan is impending, but is the story not in the arrival but in the journey? Mycroft Holmes might tend to disagree. Somehow, the British government simply cannot envision fatherhood. As if he has a choice. Sequel to "The Girl
1. Rotation

_AN: Sheesh. I go to Mexico for one week and then everyone and their dog has a drabble series when I get back. Now that I don't have a monopoly on it, I can't see how this humble chicken scratch is going to interest anyone. But for anyone reading, this is to be seven months in the life of Mycroft Holmes, spent in perpetual anticipation. Enjoy._

**Rotation**

"Mycroft, really now, are you alright...?"

The man honestly looked as if he might faint. His heavy face had gone as pale as the good bone china, and his watery eyes gave the impression that they had evaporated.

"A... A baby. We're expecting a baby."

His wife gave an obedient nod. "Yes, Mycroft."

"How soon? How far along are you?" He scanned her quickly and saw no outward signs yet.

"Only two months. Along, I mean. Not to go, of course." She took a deep breath to calm herself and then realized she was the better off of the two. It was, after all, a womanly matter. "Mycroft...?"

"Just a moment, Ann, just give me a moment. It's all spinning again."


	2. Minutes

**Minutes**

It had taken the brilliant Mr. Mycroft Holmes the better part of forty-five minutes to wrap his head around the fact that in seven months, twenty-eight weeks, or two hundred, fourteen days, he would be a father. Give or take for an early or late delivery, of course.

Five thousand, one hundred, thirty-six hours... He had to stop himself before he began to calculate minutes and seconds.

"You're... You're fine with this, then...?" the girl questioned, almost timid but not quite as her hand weaved around his defences to stroke his dark hair.

"Of course I am, Ann." He was almost afraid to touch her, no matter how irrational that was. He felt so... vulnerable, with her touching him as such but he submitted to it. "I will admit, however... I'm a bit nervous..."

"I am, too... We have seven months, Mycroft."

Three hundred eight thousand, one hundred, sixty minutes.


	3. Possibilities

**Possibilities**

"I take it from your expression that you've already heard the news," sighed Mycroft as he eased himself into an armchair at 221b Baker Street.

"I did not need to," his brother replied. He was unable to contain his self-satisfied smirk, making him look very much like a smug hawk who had just gobbled down a pet rabbit. "I'm surprised you failed to see the very obvious signs. But then... Emotion is so effective at clouding logic."

He ignored this. He did not want to admit that he had overlooked the most blatant of hints. "So, is the great Sherlock Holmes looking forward to becoming an uncle?"

Holmes tented his fingers, face set in thought. "I will confess that at first the idea was a bit appalling, but perhaps it will be interesting to have a nephew who might take after me."

"There's also a sporting chance that it will be a girl."

He shifted a few choice inches. "Yes, well, I like to think optimistically."


	4. Immaturity

Immaturity

Mycroft was not usually one for avoiding eye contact, but he found himself staring into his tea. "I've been trying to get Ann to stay off her feet a bit more, but she insists she's fine."

Watson could not help but smile. "You must remember she is pregnant, not a cripple. If you try to treat her like a child you'll only make her angry."

"It seems to me," Holmes responded coolly, sipping at his own cup. "That there isn't much a person can do to not make a woman angry."

The two other men exchanged a brief glance before Mycroft replied "There are some things, I've heard.", leaving Holmes in the dark until Watson gave a small snort.

"And you call me the immature one," he grumbled amidst his friend's laughter. 


	5. Early Morning

**Early Morning**

Mycroft had always been early to bed, early to rise. So far he was both wealthy and wise, and as for healthy, he had yet to take a stroke. This, of course, had differed from the habits of the girl when she had first joined his bed. He would never forget the look of dismay on her face when she looked at the clock her first morning in the house.

To himself, he had often argued that his mannerisms and his patterns would not coordinate with those of a long-term significant other. That first morning he was sure they were to end up hating one another; the laws of physics were against a man of his size getting out of a bed without disturbing the other side, and she slept lightly.

To his surprise, however, the girl had never complained and within a month ceased to look near sleep at the breakfast table. It was just another aspect of being a devoted wife. 

The first time he did not wake her, he knew she had been up pacing all night, feeling sick and refusing his company. She did not shift when he rose and he was as quiet as he could possibly be as he went to shave.


	6. Spark

**Spark**

Mycroft heard movement from the bed and glanced over his shoulder from where he stood at the wardrobe. The girl was beginning to wake. "Good morning, Ann. Did you sleep well once you did?"

She gave a drowsy nod, likely not even having heard what he said, and sat up, leaning her back against the headboard.

Although he was by no means sentimental, he found it rather humbling to think that there was the more minute spark of life in an arrangement of cells the approximate size and shape of a kidney bean, only just beginning to form a brain and fingers. Of course, the little spark of life was also playing havoc with its host; his wife looked pale and tired, but at least was not dashing for the water closet.

"I should get up," she yawned, her gaze closer to the pillow than her husband. "I'm just being lazy..."

He crossed the room, cupping her cheek in a huge hand. "Sleep, Ann. I ate breakfast alone for decades, I can stand it again for one morning."


	7. Chains

**Chains**

The maid looked up as her mistress finally descended the stairs, a purring Siamese nestled in her arms looking perfectly content. Her mistress, on the other hand, looked pale and had yet to eat that day.

How horrible, she mused as she left her dusting to go prepare toast and a pot of weak ginger tea, to be carrying their master's spawn. She said she wanted it, but what choice did she have in the matter? The master was likely much less of a gentleman behind closed doors.

Chains, that's what children were to a girl like that. A wedded woman always had a chance to run before she had children; could slip off into an awaiting carriage in the dead of the night, perhaps. The master was not a sound sleeper but they sold pills to keep him unaware for a few hours.

But what people called little blessings were eventually born and became a reason to keep poor young girls like her mistress in their fathers' traps. Already she was surely going quite mad; what other explanation could their be for the funny way she was smiling?


	8. Overdue

****

Overdue

Ann Marie felt so much like a child sitting behind Mycroft's desk. It was as if she were back at the academy and was fooling about in the headmaster's office before he got back. It was a rather unsettling feeling.

But she needed to write a letter, a serious letter, and Mycroft's desk seemed to be the best place to do that. Therefore, she had set out the ink and the pen and the good stationary (but not the best) and tried her best to write.

It was turning out to be harder than she thought it would be.

She frowned, tucking a loose ringlet behind her ear. _Focus... What would Mycroft say if he was writing this? _She put pen to paper.

__

Dear Father and Mother...


	9. Humble

**Humble**

_I am very sorry I have not written earlier, but it was only recently that I was able to acquire your new address. It did not help that it was not in any of the directories._

_I have grown to be very happy being Mrs. Holmes. Mycroft is a very kind man and he more than provides for me. We have become quite fond of one another, and many say we are well-suited to one another. I would not think a man as brilliant as him could ever be contentedly matched with me, but somehow it is so._

_It is somewhat odd being entangled in the Holmes family and being in Dr. Watson's publications on occasion as well as having my own column. Sometimes, however, Dr. Watson makes me seem a bit more helpful than I usually am. I usually just make the tea._

_I know you told me not to try to contact you again, but I believed I should make you aware that I am in the family way with our first child. I am sorry things turned out the way they did, but I do want you to know that your rash choice gave me happiness._

_Ann Marie Holmes_

The former Lord Chaplin read it once, was grateful his daughter was likely not being beaten, and tossed the letter in the fire. No use thinking of a gem long sold to a stranger when one had lost the means to keep it.


	10. Vanity

**Vanity**

Mycroft sighed, leaning his head back. "Ann, please come to bed. You haven't gained an ounce, I swear."

The girl did not look as certain. She was standing before the mirror, her white nightgown clinging more closely than a garment should outside the bedroom, and yet there was no sign of a telltale curve yet.

"You're beautiful," he assured her as she finally joined him under the covers and curled up against him. He heard a slight noise when he embraced her and loosened his grip. Her chest had been tender; a usual symptom more pleasant than morning sickness but still not enjoyable.

"I won't be in a few months," she murmured, staying close to his portly form for warmth. "You won't find me so beautiful once I get fat."

He wondered if she realized the double standard of her own mind, doubted it, and merely went to sleep.


	11. Heartfelt

**Heartfelt**

Mycroft tapped his pen against the top of the desk, trying to ignore the bite marks the cat had left on its barrel. He often wished that he had just bought the girl a necklace.

What was he supposed to say? He had not had any contact with her in nearly four (or was it closer to five?) years save for the impersonal Christmas cards and occasional line to let him know she was still alive. There was also her reports, of course. Some of them made it to him, but in those numbers he did not see her, only her mind.

There was so much to say... So much had happened to him, so many new or long absent emotions had came to him, and it wanted to extend them to the woman who had brought him into the world.

__

Dear Mother,

I have married a woman and gotten her pregnant in that order. You were wrong for once. Sherlock sends his best.

Mycroft


	12. Eleven

**Eleven**

"At eleven weeks, the foetus' head is nearly half of its total body size. It weighs approximately seven grams. Irises and fingernails are beginning formation. Nausea usually begins to ease around this time and most women begin to show. The heartbeat is audible by modern stethoscopes soon." Catherine wrinkled her nose behind the volume of the encyclopaedia. "Disgusting."

"It's not disgusting," sighed Fiona, sipping at her tea. "It only sounds that way when you describe it like something happening under a microscope. Have you felt it yet?"

Ann Marie shook her head, looking a bit sceptical at the drawings accompanying the text. Surely no human being ever looked like _that_... "Dr. Elsi said I likely won't until the fifth month. I'm hoping I'm with the majority that ends morning sickness soon."

"Hmm, says here unless your doctor says otherwise, you can have sex right up until the seventh month," mused Catherine, flipping the page. "And here I thought women only had children to keep their husbands away for nine months." She looked up to her blushing friend. "What? God, you're the only one who's obviously had it and you're the one embarrassed?"

Mycroft came home to one of his wife's friends waving a textbook at her and listing off anatomy. Before he was noticed, he slipped back out the door. As good a time as ever to go to the Diogenes Club.


	13. Indeterminate

**Indeterminate**

"Mycroft?" the girl asked as she entered his study, leafing through the envelopes she had just fetched.

"Yes? Oh, if there's another one from the King of Bohemia, just toss it in the bin and remind me to kill Sherlock later." His Majesty liked to keep in touch with the Great Detective as often as possible, and eventually Sherlock had given his brother's address as his own.

She removed two thick envelopes lined with gold borders and dropped them in the rubbish can. "There's a letter here from a Mrs. Violet Holmes, and it's postmarked from Russia. She... She's your mother, isn't she?"

This made him look up from his work; he had not expected her to write back. "Yes. Or so she tells me, anyway." He accepted the letter from her, sparing a glance at her form. She had been lamenting that she was starting to show the night before but he saw nothing.

"Am I the kind of woman she'd approve of...?" questioned the blonde, not able to help but be curious about her husband's family.

Not knowing a polite or accurate answer, Mycroft merely muttered something inaudible and opened the envelope.


	14. Mother

****

Mother

__

Dear Mycroft,

I'm rather disappointed that the first proper letter you've sent me in five years is mostly comprised of gloating. Even Sherlock writes every few months or so. I do realize that your duties far outnumber his, but how long does it take to put pen to paper?

Mycroft wondered to himself why on earth she had not taken her own advice.

__

As you likely know, I have been focusing on my work and have hardly kept up on current events that do not affect me. It is difficult to even get the London papers in Russia, and harder to convince the supervisors of this project to allow them through. I had serious doubts that you have actually been married voluntarily until I wrote your brother. He did not respond, but Dr. Watson sent me an explanation of the events. Needless to say, it made things a bit more clear.

The project ends in mid-December and I miss English soil. As well, I feel it is my duty as a mother-in-law to make sure you are not making this poor child's life a living Hell. Expect me on the twenty-third of December if you do not wish to defer this. If you do, I remind you there are less amiable means of investigation.

Violet Holmes

"Mother"


	15. Normalcy

****

Normalcy

Ann Marie was caught somewhere between curiosity and terror. On one hand, this woman knew all about the past her husband always deemed too trivial to discuss. On the other, however, this woman might judge every tiny detail about her, likely thinking about how much better her son might have done for a wife. Lord knows she did not deserve a man like him.

"What is your mother like?" she asked finally, unable to contain her less than subtle questions, as she worked away on her latest set of napkins (the "V" volume of the encyclopaedia was open on her lap; she was embroidering them with various species of violets). "Her personality, I mean."

Mycroft took his time in answering, eyes on the evening paper but mind attempting to sum up the woman in as few words as possible. "I will not say she does not have her faults, but... She is a good woman. She is glad I married."

"Is she glad you married _me_?"

He considered this. "She has a fondness for normalcy; she may consider you exactly what I needed."


	16. Irritant

**Irritant**

"Mother's coming to visit." His tone was that of a pallbearer.

"I know," his brother smirked, folding his skeletal fingers together. "Excuse my French, but she is _pissed_ at you. I am not usually so coarse, but no other words describe it."

"I've been busy. And _she_ made no effort to contact _me_!" Mycroft retorted, refusing to be jealous of their mother's preference of the youngest son but wishing he could have explained his situation to her himself. He had always been horrible at explaining himself; he was asked to do it so little. "She implied she thought I was mistreating Ann, Sherlock! How could she think that?"

"She is pregnant," Holmes began. His tone was almost whimsical. "Logically, that would mean the two of you have made love at some point. That in itself is mistreatment enough."

His face did not flicker. "Odd. She never came here out of concern for Dr. Watson."

The detective replied with a very crude gesture.


	17. Silverware

__

AN: I've got to admit it; no matter how bad of an influence Miss Catherine Dawson is, I love to write her...

****

Silverware

Fiona sighed as she watched her friend attack the silver platter with a rag as if she were a Spartan with a spear set upon a Persian. "Ann Marie, I think you're overreacting about this whole thing."

"It's the hormones," noted Catherine, the only one of the three not cleaning the silverware. She, rather, was leaning back in one of the dining room chairs, novel in hand. "They make a woman go daft. Or dafter. Tell your husband his taste in literature is boring. This is supposed to be a drama. It's been two chapters and no one's dead yet."

"Haven't either of you ever listened to a married woman before? Mother-in-laws are always a nightmare!" the blonde insisted, getting thoroughly at the engravings. "I want everything to be perfect."

"I'm listening to a married woman right now, and my interest is waning. Any idea where your dearest keeps his romance novels? You know the ones I mean."

Ann Marie tossed a rag onto her face and pushed the tea spoons her way. "_Polish_."


	18. Cultivation

_AN: There is a word related to race here. This is used for accuracy and is not meant to be hateful in any way._

**Cultivation**

Rose Abbot had read her column since it had started. She had taken comfort in another woman happy in an arrange marriage. She had been delighted when her pregnancy was announced when she herself was four months in.

London, however, she had not wanted. Not where everyone looked sideways at a Negro in fine clothes. Especially now that her stomach curved out… Their stares implied she was a whore when in truth she bore her husband's child.

And now the columnist, the woman she had seen before only in photographs, was approaching her. Another one of the rich white women in the drawing rooms that made her feel unwelcome although she believed herself to be as much of a lady as any of them.

Rose said the first thing that came to mind. "You answered one of my questions once."

The blonde woman, two years her junior, smiled. "You're very graceful. Did you dance once?"

"Yes. Well, not professionally." A long silence. "I thought you would be taller."

"A lot of people say that." She extended her hand. "Mrs. Ann Marie Holmes."


	19. Bump

**Bump**

"Did your meeting dissolve into fisticuffs?" teased Ann Marie as she gently pressed the ice wrapped in cloth to his head.

"The Treasury has notoriously low doorframes," he muttered in response, grimacing in slight pain. "My mind was on more important things."

"Understandable, but if you do that too many times you'll dent your skull in," she chuckled. Slowly, she took his hand, guiding it to her stomach. "There, feel that? You can't say I'm not showing now."

Mycroft could indeed feel the slightest of bumps under his palm. The one forming on his head was likely bigger. "You can't even see it."

"But you can feel it."

He arched a brow. "Who else touches you like this?"

It was the first time his logic had made her blush.


	20. Red Herring

**Red Herring**

Holmes arched a brow as he spotted the corpulent form making its way towards the splayed body at the centre of the crime scene. "All the taxes we pay, and when a diplomat dies they send an accountant. Miracle of miracles, you're here in person."

"All the accountants we have, and they let the likes of you on the case. My house currently contains four females, two of them pregnant, and a wound-up cat. Here is safer." His watery eyes took in the scene quickly and he sighed.

"It's likely pack behaviour, you know. Circling around a bearing female. I believe wolves do it."

"Where is the doctor?"

"He could not cancel an appointment."

"Just as well; this would make a very short story. I cannot believe they called both of us here for a heart attack victim."


	21. Siblinghood

**Siblinghood**

Mycroft knew he should be focusing on the child not yet born, but he had always been one to plan ahead. Ann had hinted at a big family, but he had been thinking more along the lines of an even two. Or just one; a child with no one to fight or compete with might have a sweeter temperament.

_But all the times that Sherrinford was there for me, or Sherlock has pursued an important case, _he mused as he made his way towards his office. _Even Adelaide had her moments. Those are bonds that will last out the ages. Do I really want to deny a child that experience?_

He entered, moving aside quickly as Dante hurtled over and struck the doorframe, murmuring something in painful French. Mycroft arched an eyebrow.

Emily was standing in the middle of the room, her sleeves rolled up, looking surprised. All the desks had been pushed to the sides to create a space. Hanes, usually the chaperone, was on his day off.

"Er..." Janii began, his own sleeves rolled up the elbow and his jacket discarded. "Teaching Miss Francis a bit of self-defence now that her bones are all healed back up. We're like a little family here, sir, wouldn't want my little sister to be caught helpless again."

Dante groaned and then was silent.

Mycroft made no comment, merely stalked off to his haven. _On the other hand, only children are shown to do better academically..._


	22. Social Discussion

**Social Discussion**

"I simply don't understand it," stated Dr. Watson. Another afternoon appointment meant that he was accompanying Ann Marie to the doctor's; even a married woman shouldn't be about London on her own. "The traditional purpose of marriage is to produce children, and yet you seem ashamed that people might actually be able to see you are pregnant."

Her cheeks burnt slightly. "Well, it's... It's like telling the entire world that you've... Well, that you've done _it_."

"This child was obviously conceived well inside the boundaries of marriage. Where's the shame in it?"

"It's not _shame_, doctor, not really. It's simply..." Ann Marie paused, finally sighing. "It's not logical. Is that what you wanted to hear? It's just uncomfortable to have everyone looking at you know you've been bedded. And at my age, people will glare until they see a wedding band. I've seen it before."

"If it's any comfort, you cannot tell until you get close." He considered Mrs. Holmes very lucky; now that the morning sickness was over, she appeared to have very few symptoms.

Ann Marie considered otherwise. She hardly discussed her aching chest, flashes of heat, and a feeling somewhere in her abdomen that she could not place but was fairly sure was lust, which was just one more thing to be ashamed about.


	23. Hippocratic Oath

**Hippocratic Oath**

The tea Mrs. Hudson had put out had grown cold. Was this his life in a nutshell now? An afternoon escorting a lady to an appointment and an evening pursuing violent criminals? Was this what he had gone to medical school for?

"Watson…"

The croaked, weak voice, drew his gaze quickly to the bed beside him, and he rose, although he did not know why. "Holmes…" He did not know what to say other than "Damn you, Holmes."

The detective chuckled with strength he could not spare.

"This is not funny! You were entirely reckless! You could have been _killed_, Holmes! If the knife had been two centimetres left or right…"

"But it was not," murmured Holmes, eyes slightly bleary but alert enough. "And thus I fight for good for tomorrow, at least."

"No, you rest for tomorrow, and the next day, and for as many days after that as I deem needed."

He had no strength left to argue with, nor to tell Watson that he would have taken those extra centimetres rather than see the knife go into his Boswell. A doctor could not fulfill his Oath if he himself was dead.


	24. Motivation

**Motivation**

The next time Holmes opened his eyes, every muscle in his body ached and Watson looked like he had not slept in days.

"You were out with fever for over forty-eight hours. Infection," murmured the doctor, his smile weak but genuine as he took his friend's temperature and found it to be falling.

"Have you eaten? Or slept?" Holmes demanded. He hated to see his friend so worn and worried over him; he was not worth Watson's concern, not to that extent.

He nodded. "I could not sleep, but I've been eating. Ann Marie has been by to make sure of that." He paused, as if wondering to continue, but finally did. "She has been very worried for you."

This did not surprise him, as his sister-in-law was someone who would worry over a condemned criminal. "What did you tell her?"

"That you could not die until you knew what gender her child was because you cannot stand not knowing if you are right."

Although it made his wound pang, he laughed.


	25. Worry

_AN: Afraid I'm going to miss the "Mrs. Holmes" update this week; serious lack of time due to school and other activities. So that's one more week to get your questions in!_

**Worry**

Ann Marie sat up when her husband pushed open the bedroom door. He looked haggard and tired. "Mycroft..." She slipped out of the bed, approaching him. "Are you..."

"I am fine," he murmured, brushing her off but not resisting when she touched his face. "I'm simply not used to seeing Sherlock so... still. He was sedated, and Dr. Watson says the wound will likely heal quickly, but..."

"But he is your brother, and you worry," she finished for him, withdrawing her touch as he went to the bathroom to change, an obvious sign that sleep would follow immediately. She felt a small pang of disappointment, but knew this was much more important than her hormonal urges.

When Mycroft returned and settled next to her, he blinked when she moved closer to him, holding onto him. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, hiding his face in her golden hair. He knew a mere knife could not stop his brother for long, and yet he accepted his worry as a necessary human emotion.

It felt much better to worry with her in his arms than to worry in solitude, as he had done so many times before.


	26. Advice

**Advice**

Michael Abbot could not help but notice his employer had downed his fourth cup of coffee. Sympathetic to the emotions of others, he adopted a gentle expression. "Still concerned for your brother, sir?"

"No, Mr. Abbot. He is making a miraculous recovery." It had not yet been two weeks since the incident and the fool was already hobbling about the city again. "... May I say something to you strictly as one expectant father to another?"

The man blinked. "Yes, sir."

Mycroft buried his face in his hands. "Ann is driving me _insane. Every night _this week. At _least_ once. She woke me up at _three-thirty _in the morning yesterday and acted like it was nothing out of the ordinary!"

He restrained a chortle for the sake of his employment. "Mere hormones, sir. Rose was similar. Most men rather enjoy it. There is nothing to do but wait it out."

He gave a soft groan. "Easy for you to say. She is younger than me by twenty-three years and in much better physical condition than I. She's going to _kill_ me at this rate!"


	27. Stillness

**Stillness**

Mycroft Holmes knew full well he was getting old, but he had not quite realized it until he had been silently overjoyed when his wife did not initiate the most interesting purpose of the bedroom.

He had never been one to rove, to be driven by his hormones, but surely there had been a point in his life when he had preferred activities with a woman rather than just lying next to her, listening to her breath.

At the moment, the world felt still. He knew there was likely a war raging somewhere, but he was off the clock, Ann and their child were healthy, and his brother was recovering, so for a brief span of time, he was content.

"What's that scent…?" he murmured with a smile, toying with her hair. "It's lovely."

"Shea butter, to prevent stretch marks. A lot of women swear it works."

He wished to tell her he loved her, but instead he merely let the stillness be.


	28. Decorations

**Decorations**

December nineteenth was the day they decorated. Many hands made light work, and they did not have a tree in their flat for want of space, and so Ann Marie invited Watson and Holmes to help decorate the house.

Watson could not help but feel that things were almost... domestic. The sitting room was littered with small boxes as ornaments were removed from them and placed on the pine boughs. The fire was crackling and it smelled of juniper (Holmes had attempted a wreath before tossing it in there). Conversation revolved mainly around the phrases "Ann, let me do that!" and "It will be a boy, you know", and yet the arguments were fairly good-natured. Mycroft had only trapped the cat in a box once.

He looked up when Ann Marie pressed a cup of tea into his hands. "Thank you."

"You look a bit down," she remarked softly, eyes lowered, likely knowing the reason.

He remembered Christmases with Mary. The love, the hope they had held for the future... Those things were gone from he and Mary, but now another couple had them.

Watson smiled. "Not too down, Mrs. Holmes. Best to stop Marco Polo; I think he's trying to eat the tree."


	29. Scientific Merit

**Scientific Merit**

Mycroft glanced over to his younger brother, who was buried in a thick book entitled "Medical Myths and Truths". Hardly normal reading material for a train station. "Do I wish to so much as ask?"

"There is an entire chapter on supposed methods of determine an unborn child's gender," he replied evenly, licking the tip of his long finger to turn the page. "At least one of them must have some scientific merit."

The portly man chuckled. "What, like the wedding ring on the hair trick? I thought more of you, Sherlock."

"That's a bad example," he bristled, visibly irked. "There must be _some _that work." He turned the page again, face lighting up. "Like this one! If it is a girl, the mother will crave sugar; if it is a boy, salt. When you consider the effects of the hormones that are thought to influence the gender..." He looked up and towards his brother. "What did she have for breakfast this morning?"

His brother sighed, rolling his eyes. "I'd say to act normal in front of Mother, but she knows how you are."


	30. Arrival

**Arrival**

Violet Holmes was almost grateful when the train slowed to a stop and she was able to close the novel she had bought at the station in Russia. She had not had the time to read literature in quite a while, and if this book was any indication, she had not missed much while buried in the innermost details of the latest project.

Disembarking, she spotted her two sons easily; the height they had inherited from both parents was hard to miss.

Sherlock was beginning to look more like his father as he aged, with the same messy hair and angular face. He wore a far less amiable expression that Sigerson ever had, however, and his posture would have made his father roll his eyes.

Mycroft was more the model of order, a straight back and a neat appearance. Much more attention was paid to his clothing now that he had a wife instead of a tailor. She had seen him in one of the papers she had had procured; he and his wife and the première of some opera, his huge form such a contrast to his wife, barely eighteen at the time and yet still smiling on his arm.

Mrs. Holmes had already made several deductions about the girl with only pictures. She could have obtained her school records, but felt a breach of privacy was not the best way to begin a relationship with her. Her predictions had only changed slightly when Sherlock had finally written her to say that his brother was actually in love.


	31. Accusations

**Accusations**

"I should have expected that you would only marry if someone spared you the energy of courting."

Her eldest son reddened, and he muttered something under his breath.

Sherlock was more than eager to pipe up in his behalf. "He really did have a stroke of luck; most men need to charm a girl for months, and he only had to get a few lucky hands of cards. And trust me, she's right for him. Would wait on him hand and foot if he'd let her."

Mrs Holmes's eyes shifted back to Mycroft, narrowed slightly. "You make her _submit_ to you?"

"I don't _make_ her do anything! He just said I don't let her...! Isn't it better that I married her instead of a less honourable man who might take advantage of her?"

"Don't you talk to me about honour, Mycroft. I expected better of you, really. Only seventeen at the time, and furthermore..."

Sherlock gave a hidden smile. He had missed Mother.


	32. Reciprocity

**Reciprocity **

Ann Marie forced herself to look her mother-in-law in the eye. She wanted to make an impression as a capable wife, not a frightened child bride.

She was a rather tall woman, and those eyes... Those she shared with her sons as well. They were closer to Sherlock's than Mycroft's, and Sherlock had mentioned her deductive logic did not exceed that of either son, but even without knowing she got the impression that this woman had been smarter when she was eighteen than Ann Marie would ever be.

"Mrs. Holmes," she greeted, holding out a hand that was grasped quiet firmly. "Please, come in out of the cold."

Violet Holmes gave a hint of a smile, following the blonde girl. She too sized the other female up, but for an entirely different reason. She showed no outward sign of less than mild surprise.

The girl appeared... happy. Not merely content, either. Sherlock had neglected to mention that his brother's love was reciprocated.


	33. Generation

_AN: Apologies for no "Mrs. Holmes" updates this week; taking the Victoria weekend off of it._

**Generation**

"You have a beautiful home here, Mycroft," Mrs. Holmes commented as Mycroft escorted her to the guest room. "And a beautiful wife who would love to kill your brother."

"They've learned to tolerate one another," he sighed, setting down her light bags.

"When is she due? July?"

"June. She's a bit underweight; I wish she'd eat more. But at least the morning sickness has largely ceased."

"She thinks the world of you," the woman murmured softly, glancing around the room. It was immaculate, but she had expected nothing less. "I'm sorry I didn't seek news earlier, but my work..."

He had received this talk before. "There is no need to apologize. England is victorious but for the midnight oil burned."

Violet could not meet his eyes. "Never, ever tell your own child that, Mycroft."


	34. Gifting

**Gifting**

Sherlock Holmes was never one inclined to sentimentality, and yet buying Christmas gifts had always been a bit of a pet interest of his. It was like a personalized scavenger hunt with the reward of his loved ones putting up with him another year.

Mycroft was easy; cigars and a new pocket watch. After all, it was Holmes's fault his old one barely worked, and his brother detested selecting ornaments like that (the detective knew for a fact that when he had bought his wife's engagement ring, he had paid one of his employees to pick it out).

A trip to a very reputable bookstore yielded two first edition antique anatomy texts for Watson and one on early chemical theories for Mother. He also got her a shawl; it was an old stand-by. Mrs. Hudson always got half a month's rent and Indian tea.

But there was someone extra this year... What on earth would the girl want? He would say pens, but she was never particular about what she wrote with. He had no idea what she read in her spare time besides romance, and he would not lower himself to buying romance novels. He did not dare buy her jewellery; that send the wrong message.

An idea finally flickered into his mind, and he smiled softly. _I suppose that will do..._


	35. Confession

**Confession**

"I suppose I really should apologize," Violet Holmes began once she and her daughter-in-law were alone. "Mycroft is hardly the most emotionally open person, and that is likely largely my part."

Having not expected a confession like that, Ann Marie's eyes fell to her hands. "Mrs. Holmes... I mean, most men don't really open up..."

"He more than others. I have no excuses, no words that forgive my actions, but I merely felt I should let you know where the blame lies so that you do not think it is something to do with you." She sighed, thinking of the first fourteen years of her eldest son's life and not surprised she could barely come up with a handful of memories of him. She regreted her abandonment of him, but one could not turn back the clock.

"Sometimes I suppose he is a bit..." The younger woman fell silent, not knowing what to say or if she should even speak at all. Finally, it was simply blurted out. "He's never once told me he loves me. I know he does, he says it in his actions, but I don't know if he can even say it."

Violet sighed, pity welling within her. All in all, however, at least he was capable of love at all.


	36. Happy Christmas

**Happy Christmas**

Holmes was surprised at the girl's insight when he tore the paper off a leather-bound collection of Shakespeare.

"Dr. Watson told me," she admitted with a hesitant smile. "He said you spilled chemicals all over your old ones, and that they were getting worn anyway."

The doctor in question gave a grin at his friend's stiff, formal nod.

Holmes pushed the slightly askew box towards his sister-in-law with his foot. "Thank you. Happy Christmas. I hope it's adequate."

Ann Marie raised an eyebrow, slitting the paper carefully and then parting the cardboard. When she saw the carved mahogany cradle within the balled packing paper, however, her hands flew to her mouth, face beaming. "Sherlock... Thank you. It's beautiful."

He merely allowed a wry smile and raised his glass of cognac. "To my nephew."

"Or niece," put in Mycroft, somewhat indignant but pleased at the kind gesture.

"Hmm... Well, may they have their father's smarts and their mother's looks, and God help them if that's reversed."


	37. Broken Tradition

**Broken Tradition**

A month and a half ago, Mycroft's battered copy of the Tao Te Ching fell apart at the bindings. Although he was annoyed, he was hardly surprised; the copy was nearly fifteen years old, and much-used. Finding a replacement had been another matter entirely. It was hardly a common book in England, after all.

"Fifty different versions of the Bible," he had grumbled on one particularly foul night after coming in from hours spent hunting. "And not a single copy of the Tao!"

Ann Marie knew he had a copy in the desk in his study, but she also knew it was too precious to him to risk damaging it. He had showed it to her once; his father had illustrated the black page around the lines with beautiful sketches and coloured pencil drawings.

She was not glad his book had broken, but she was overjoyed that she finally knew of something to give him for Christmas.

The girl was beaming when he opened the pocket-sized notebook filled with all eighty-one poems copied meticulously in her neat, feminine hand from the scraps she had rescued from the trash bin.

She could tell from his expression that he liked it. She could tell more from the private, stolen kiss in the kitchen, however. "Mycroft! There's not even any mistletoe…!"


	38. End to Solitude

**End to Solitude**

Ann Marie despised being alone at night. In her early years there had been her nanny, and then her roommate (even though Fiona had snored considerably), and very shortly after that it had been her husband, a stranger then but a true companion now. She took refuge against his huge form now, a content sigh escaping her.

Mycroft brushed her hair away from her face, causing her to give a high-pitched sneeze. "Sorry. Something weighing on your mind?" It was Christmas; he did not want her to be worried about anything.

She stroked the swell of her stomach. "By next Christmas, we'll be parents."

"Yes, we will."

"The thought is a little rattling, is all."

"Everything will be fine, Ann. Believe me." He did not mention that he was every bit as nervous as she was. She had come from a purely social environment; he had gone from social recluse to husband, not permitted to even settle into that role before becoming an expectant father.

It would do no good to burden her, however, and so for the next five months he would read all the books, comfort her all he could, and merely wait for fate to take its toll.


	39. Romantics

**Romantics**

Mycroft was quickly developing a headache. His mother had promised more frequent letters this time, but it was well into January and he did not even know where she was off to. Ann was currently in a sulking mood, and although it was horrible he found himself pulling extra hours merely for a reprieve (he had a feeling she might kill him if he simply went to the Diogenes Club).

On top of all that, although Miss Francis was still the most productive member of his personal staff, there was something off about her lately. He was not so naive that he could not guess._A lover, likely,_ he thought, restraining a small smile as he observed her in a glance. There was a small smudge by her brow, and she never wore makeup beyond basic powder._ Bolder than her, and taller. Hardly a narrow field, but then it is hardly my business._

Perhaps it was what she needed. A girl that age should not be engulfed in her work, and she spent more time in her shell than a turtle.

Although her leanings put her at most risk for persecution, Mycroft could not help but be glad for them. This way, there was no chance he would have to deal with a pregnancy at the office as well as at home.


	40. Thump

**Thump**

The portly man shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying not to gaze too heavily on the girl, who was down to her skirts and petticoats and looking as embarrassed as he himself felt.

Dr. Elsi could sense the discomfort in both of them, and began to feel it himself. He was usually faster about it. Finally he snapped his fingers, startling both of them.

"Here we are!" he proclaimed, pulling out the earpieces. "Nice and strong, as even as a pocket watch! Well, a good pocket watch. Would you like to hear, Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft was not quite sure if he wanted to or not, but he took the stethoscope all the same, closing his eyes in order to concentrate. And there it was... A tiny little thumping, the heartbeat of his yet-to-be child.

As they walked out of the office, he noticed an almost knowing smile on his wife's face. "What is it?"

"I think it will be a girl."


	41. Intervention

_AN: Because I'm currently bogged down with exams/the school paper/prom/graduation, "Go Ask Mrs. Holmes" will be updated every other Friday until further notice._

**Intervention**

Mycroft had no sooner entered the club than he was grabbed at the elbow by one of his fellow founders and steered towards the Stranger's Room. At the present it was devoid of strangers, and instead occupied with the senior members.

"It has been brought to our attention," began his kidnapper after clearing his throat. This was the second time Mycroft had heard him talk. "That your wife is… in the family way, shall we say?"

As the girl was beginning to show more, now edging into her fifth month (and thankfully without event), Mycroft had been getting more of that. Usually, however, it was far less sombre. "What of it? Is it a social shame to reproduce?"

The other man flushed slightly. "Well, we were simply wondering if you were planning to follow club tradition and wait out the labour here. Most men prefer quiet meditation to the screaming."

Mycroft caught a flash of his Ann in pain and paled a shade. "Screaming…?"

The fathers among them nodding knowingly.


	42. Dim

**Dim**

Ann Marie was glad that Mycroft was out and the maid had the day off; she was feeling too horrible to be in anyone's company.

When she had felt the first tentative fidgets of her babe, she had sobbed into Mycroft's shoulder for a good half hour. Now, she rubbed at her growing stomach and wished she (one had to put a certain amount of faith in mother's intuition, after all) would take a lengthy break, perhaps somewhere in the range of four months.

She felt slightly nauseous and she was developing a splitting headache. The fact that her future child seemed hell-bent on keeping her on the edge by kicking at the walls of its confinement (and its mother's organs) was certainly not helping.

She hoped this was not a sign of a future personality.

The sides of her vision dimmed slightly, and she knew enough to wish she was no longer alone. One moment she had been standing, and the next the room spun beneath her feet. She gripped at the edge of the table, but it did nothing to still it. There was a ringing in her ears and everything faded to brown.

It occurred to her briefly that she must have fainted. Six seconds later, she did just that.


	43. Positive Thinking

**Positive Thinking**

Mycroft walked home more slowly than usual. He needed time to think. He knew that there was a great amount of pain in childbirth, but had failed to connect that to the fact that Ann would be in pain. Sherlock had been right; love blocked out the brain entirely.

All of a sudden, this entire matter of children did not seem worth it. Women suffered during birth, some bled more than they should, some _died_... Ann would only be eighteen when she gave birth, and while there had been younger mothers by far it seemed too young now.

_Stop it,_ he told himself firmly, attempting to put such thoughts from his head. _She has one of the best doctors in London, and she's stronger than she seems when it counts. Everything will be just fine._

This new mantra within him, he entered the house. "Ann...?"

He heard the whimpering cry of the cat, and knew something was amiss. The door was unlocked, so she was in, and yet she would never allow that animal to be in any sort of distress.

Mycroft found her sprawled out on the rug in the sitting room.


	44. Echo

**Echo**

__

I will not force you… Thank you… Did I hurt you? A little…

Echoes of the past bounced off the walls and refused to leave him be. He had sidestepped wars, reviewed genocides, and through photographs and reports had witnesses the very worst humanity could do to one another. Now it was the fate of one girl and a sole yet-to-be child that haunted him.

__

I think it's orange pekoe tea. I was trying so hard to picture him as a tablecloth…

The cat was stalking up and down the hall. Had he not known better, he might have compared it to pacing. The creature's shoulders were narrowed, its tail limp, ears pressed back…

He buried his face in his hands. Her heart had been beating as frantically as a trapped bird's wings. When he had moved her to the bedroom after summoning Watson (Baker Street was closer than Dr. Elsi's office), she had moaned at his touch and shied away.

He did not adjust the lamps as the sun set.

__

Oh, Mycroft, look at the stars…!


	45. First Time

**First Time**

"Prenatal hypertension. Simply high blood pressure caused by the pregnancy. It rarely flares twice in someone her age, so with a week or two of rest she should be fine. I got a strong heartbeat from the baby, so there likely wasn't any damage from the fall…"

In nearly a year of marriage, Ann Marie had never seen Mycroft even close to crying. Now, as he gathered her in his arms, she could feel his tears on her neck. She could think of nothing else, so she stroked his dark hair back. "Ssh… Come now, I'm fine." Was this combination of exasperation and guilt what he felt when she wept?

He merely tightened his grip. "I thought I might lose both of you."

"We're alright." She guided his broad palm down to the swell of her stomach, where there was a weak but resilient flutter of motion. "We're both alright. Please stop crying."

He did not answer, but rested his chin on the top of her head, remaining that way for quite some time.

She hoped to never see him cry again.


	46. Violets

**Violets**

When the maid (the new one; Mycroft had insisted upon extra help, and had made sure that their off days were never at the same time) poked her head in the bedroom door and asked if Ann Marie was well enough to receive a visitor, she had never been so grateful in her life.

"Three days on bed rest and you're already anxious?" Watson smiled, coming to her bedside and taking her hand briefly. "You are a terrible patient, Mrs. Holmes."

"Does anyone actually enjoy being one?" she sighed, smiling at the potted plant he set upon the bedside table. "Mother never used to allow flowers in a sick room. She said they sucked all the oxygen out of the air."

The doctor had a hunch where the girl's aptitude for science had come from. "Plants don't draw up oxygen. Just the opposite, actually. African violets; common, but beautiful. And non-toxic. I didn't think you'd be pleased with me if my gift killed your cat."

"I would be upset, but I think Mycroft might take you out to dinner…"


	47. Human Reproduction

**Human Reproduction**

If this was how life came about, Marco Polo was glad to be exempt from it.

He had been so confused at first. Mistress was sick every morning for far too long, she would swing through moods and weep for no apparent reason (he _hated_ the sound of her crying; it made his ears ache), and then over time there was less of her lap as her belly began to intrude. She had not been soft like the master (who all but tossed him when he attempted to perch on him) but firm, not as comfy as him but still much more friendly.

It was not until the master's brother had given her the wooden box that he realized she was going to have kits.

Or perhaps just one kit. They only talked of one baby (unless a baby was a human litter), and the box didn't look big enough for too many. Either way, the thing had made her faint, and he was not sure if he could forgive that.

That, and whenever he tried to curl up on her stomach the kit (kits?) kept kicking at him. He glared after skittering to her chest after one particularly hard one.

His mistress was no help, outright laughing. "I don't imagine you'd want someone sitting on you either, darling."


	48. Cabin Fever

**Cabin Fever**

"Mycroft…" Her voice was almost a whine, previously a tone below her dignity but now her last resort. "It's been nearly two weeks, both Dr. Elsi and Dr. Watson have given me a clean bill of health… I'm going to go absolutely mad in this room!"

Her husband had a feeling she would not enjoy confinement. "I'm sure you'll manage," he sighed with a roll of his eyes. "Knit."

She blew a blonde ringlet away from her face. "You're not at all funny." He had taken her needles away two days ago, claiming she was stressing over every stitch. Which she had been.

"I'll negotiate. You get your sewing if I have a promise that you'll stay off your feet." He leant in to kiss her, hand lingering on the bulge of her abdomen after feeling a stirring. "I only have your health in mind."

Ann Marie found it was hard to be mad at someone who loved her, and therefore had not choice but to agree.


	49. Bargaining

_AN: Afraid there's no "Go Ask Mrs. Holmes" this week; prom and graduation took up a great deal of my time. Who am I kidding? The post-grad party took up a great deal of my time. _

**Bargaining **

When Holmes entered the sitting room, he was glad to see the girl's complexion had returned to normal, her movements held no tremble, and the fact that she had been permitted in the sitting room in the first place. His brother would have made a terrible widower.

She was sewing a silk lining on a blue velvet blanket, only sparing a glance upwards. "Good morning, Sherlock."

"It is, isn't it? What a beautiful piece of work! I suppose you would have to have some things in blue, on the off chance the child is male. You truly look beautiful, sister mine. Radiant, really."

Ann Marie's eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

His mood instantly dropped. "I have an offer, girl. If you do a favour for me and do not breathe a word of it to any other soul, I rid you of your captors for some time." At her eager nod, the man darted into the kitchen were the maids were beginning to prepare lunch. "Ladies! One of my cases has broken! I need this delivered! Yes, both of you! There's not a moment to waste!"


	50. Centre of Gravity

**Centre of Gravity**

"I know they're swollen, thank you. My face is up here."

"Oh yes," Holmes scowled, voice nearly acidic with sarcasm. "Gawping at my brother's pregnant wife has long been a fantasy of mine. I'm looking at my feet!"

"I know that, but the lady you dance with won't. Keep your head up," she chided, noting with no small amusement that he was counting steps under his breath. "And don't get cranky with me because you can't waltz at your age. I'm surprised you agreed to this benefit at all. Keep your rhythm! One, two…"

"I feel like a caged bear; Lestrade says I'm to be the main attraction, and that if I refuse he'll call in several breaking and entering charges." One, two, three, turn. "I'm surprised you retained so much balance with the extra ballast in the front now." As they turned they were closer, and he felt a kick from the girl's stomach, causing him to break the pattern. Trying to shrug off her giggling, he questioned "Does he do that often?"

"She does it as often as she pleases," sighed Ann Marie, gesturing for him. "Again. Shoulders back this time; you look like a vulture when you slouch."


	51. Complaints

**Complaints **

"You've got another thing coming if you think you're smoking in here."

Holmes paused, cigarette not yet in his lips. The tobacco-denied mouth curled into a scowl. "It's not even one of my pipes! Grow a spine."

Ann Marie shook her hair, expression uncharacteristically firm as she folded her hands over her stomach. "I know that's a figure of speech, but someone in this room _is _growing a spine. One, I have an intolerance to smoke. You _know_ that. Mycroft has never smoked in this house, not even in his study, and just because he's not here to tell you not to doesn't mean you can. Two, smoke is bad for the baby."

"Prove that," he grumbled, shoving the cigarette back into its case.

"It's bad for fully grown men, why would it do something that's not even a full person yet any good?"

That he could hardly argue with. Apparently, pregnancy had given her the protective nature of a she-bear, claws and all. "I find my pity for my brother growing every day."

"Lately, I've loved the smell of baking. There's been a fresh loaf of bread every day this week, and I'm making lemon loaf for after dinner tonight. I've heard no complaints from him."


	52. Anniversary

**Anniversary**

A year had passed since that silly little creature had come into his bed. A year later, she was a bit less silly (and as the weeks passed, a bit less little), an entirely different being in his eyes. More beautiful than pretty, more affectionate than clinging.

She had made their favourites, finally allowed back in the kitchen. Dessert was taken in front of the fire; crème brûlée that had come out flawless. Mycroft brought up the first time she had attempted it. She had locked herself into a linen closet afterwards in tears, and the house had smelled of charred caramel for quite some time.

Ann Marie retaliated with the incident during their first month in which he had mistaken a perfectly normal female function for some horrible symptom.

They had agreed on a lack of presents, so of course they had both bought them.

"Oh, Mycroft, the maid is going to hate you…!" she gasped, running a hand over the smooth bed sheets. She knew his inspiration; her skin had been so sensitive lately that she'd had difficulty sleeping. "Silk is so hard to wash."

"The maid hates me as it is." He was rather pleased at her gift to him; a trio of fountain pens of the highest quality.

"They're plated with platinum," smiled Ann Marie, the slightest bit mischievous. "The salesman said that if poor Marco Polo tries to gnaw on them, he'll sooner break his teeth off than dent them."


	53. Salty and Sweet

**Salty and Sweet**

"Give!"

Had she actually been waiting at the door for him? If she had wanted them so much, she might have sent one of the maids out if she was still set on keeping chaperone etiquette. Still, he was learning quickly that pregnancy logic surpassed logical logic. If anyone questioned his train of thought, he couldn't cry and make the government feel guilty.

"You've never even been that fond of peanuts," he remarked, hanging his jacket up in the closet and his hat on top of the rack. "And you think eating anything with your fingers is American."

She ignored him, getting the lid off and popping several of the small legumes into her mouth, giving a sigh of delight. "Perfect…"

"From pure misery comes pure delight," smiled Mycroft. He supposed he was lucky; even her annoying behaviour was ultimately adorable.

Ann Marie continued to pick at the food. She did not know if anything had ever tasted so good in her life. "What does it mean by Sherlock's sweet and salty theory of gender if I'm craving honey roasted peanuts? They're both."

"Perhaps you're having one of each."

"Mycroft! That's not even funny…!"

"Or it's a hermaphrodite. What do I know?"


	54. Duties

**Duties**

Reg Janii could not help but be nervous as his employer scanned the reports. "Sir, I know that field work is beneath you, but Spencer Dawe is… Well, batty isn't a medical term but it's fitting. He'll try to off himself as soon as we get him. If you were on site when he was captured…"

"I know," Mycroft murmured, closing the file. They needed names, Dawe had them. There was no danger, only discomfort. The raid was scheduled for half past eleven in a bawdyhouse that the target frequented with rather disturbing regularity. "It looks as if I have little choice. Let's hope this goes as planned."

Janii gave a stiff, formal nod as he took back the papers. "Yes, sir. I truly am sorry about this. It won't exactly be a fun night." He might have been joking about the view being decent had he not dealt with this kind of women in previous cases. Why did courtesans always have the sharpest nails?

"It is hardly your fault, Janii. You are dismissed." A night hunting a wanted man in a whorehouse… What could be more fun?


	55. Morally

**Morally**

"Mycroft, really, I can manage on my own for one night!" Ann Marie protested, although she knew she was not likely to succeed. "And stop looking as if this is your fault."

What were the odds of one of the maid's cousins dying and having their funeral on the day promised off to the other maid, the same being the night of the scheduled raid? Blasted cousins… Fate had a way of tossing things into Mycroft in lieu of actually moving him.

"I am not having you alone in the house. I want no risks; you're in a fragile state."

Seven months pregnant, she felt anything but fragile. "Can't it be someone else? Anyone else?" She already knew the answer; Fiona had gone on holiday with her family and the family of the young man she had been spending increasing amounts of time with, Rose had gone home to the country for the last part of her confinement (she was less than a month away from her due date and her letters were filled with apprehension), and Catherine had simply said no without any reason. Unsurprisingly.

"Dr. Watson is in surgery, Mrs. Hudson is away, and my employees can't be spared. I've told Sherlock that if there are any complaints, I'll keep his violin from him until the birth."

"… Can you actually do that?"

"Legally, I all but run the country. Morally, I am his older brother. Physically, Dante would not live in England if there was not a warrant on his head in France."


	56. Dedication

**Dedication**

Holmes did not wonder if his brother really would spirit away his treasured instrument; he knew he would. And could. He had seen M. Damien Dante's profile, and he was not a man who would have any problems getting into a bank vault let alone a flat.

Besides, he supposed he owed the girl after her lessons.

"You look worn," he commented without malice as he set down the violin case in the sitting room (he did not wish to leave it unwatched at present).

She bore the slight tinge of darkness under her eyes, and her skin lacks its usual life. "I haven't been sleeping well… She's been shifting and kicking at me constantly. I wish she was a bit more like her father in that regard… That, and the weight is discomforting."

"All common and unavoidable symptom of impending motherhood. Life comes at a price, girl."

Ironic, really… Nine months and so much effort went into bringing a person into the world, and yet one could be taken out of the world with a fraction of the dedication…


	57. Unexpected Client

_AN: Just a bit of a warning, the alternating chapters with Mycroft for the next little bit are going to contain mentions of a female/female relationship along with a bit of crudeness (although I think nothing worse than has been in the story already thanks to Holmes's barging in...). Although I don't feel I should have to, they'll be a short note at the top of the chapter if it's in it. _

**Unexpected Client**

"Dante, would you put that cigarette out!" barked Mycroft Holmes, making it obvious that it was not a request. His nerves were already frayed, and he did not need to be reminded as to why Miss Francis was not present. Smoke simply aggravated her lungs too much, and apparently getting officers to stop puffing for more than half an hour was always met with failure.

The Frenchman flicked the glowing stub to the ground, crushing it with his heel. All outside could hear chaos within. Protesting men, cursing women… He remained on the defence, being the least physically apt at fighting after his back had been harmed years ago.

Things calmed inside eventually but when none came to fetch them, Mycroft stormed in with an order to his underling to remain. He wanted to get home to a warm bed. He pretending not to see the stammering businessmen and the females, many calmer than their customers, lining the hallway in various states of undress.

The more risky the client, the further back they were. One of the doors at the end of a long corridor was ajar. He entered expecting to see his man.

It was not Samuel Dawe he met but rather a very familiar woman named Catherine chained to the headboard.


	58. Solitary

**Solitary**

Holmes was lounged upon the settee, absent-mindedly tuning his violin. The plucking of the strings and the odd bow across them was not the only sound in the room, and finally he rolled his eyes towards the girl. "_What_?"

She was sniffling, the cat settled in her arms mewling softly in response. "I'm… I'm sorry… I'm just so worried for him, Sherlock. He's never in the fray like this…"

"One, a planned raid on a non-hostile establishment is hardly a fray. Two, Mycroft is the trump card of England, girl. He would be shot only if a bullet made it through ten foot soldiers. Now stop being so… womanly, would you?"

She gave a guilty nod, knowing he was telling the truth. She cringed with a particularly hard kick. "I know, but I can't _help_ worrying. You don't understand how frightening it would be to be alone. You don't need anyone."

Holmes mused on where he might be without several people, shuddered, and resumed his tuning.


	59. Solitaire

_AN: This chapter contains reference to a Sapphic relationship, reference to a slang term almost exclusive to the homosexual community, and a reference to a song nobody likes but me._

**Solitaire**

Catherine had been playing solitaire with a deck of fifty-one she had found in a coat pocket after her friend's husband had shoved her in the closet, lit only by the crack through to the next room, for nearly an hour. She wondered if he knew the irony of her hiding place… While she hardly liked the man, she knew it was in her best interest to listen to him for the time being.

When the door finally opened, it was his scowling face that she saw. "Follow me and start explaining."

"What's to explain?" she grumbled, standing on numb legs and allowing herself to be led out a back door. "I wanted it, and the one I'm currently with is taking it slow. I don't have your wife's morals, alright?"

He resisted the urge to shake the girl. "Morals nothing, shunning someone who cares for you for some… whore… Are you really so cruel or do you just not care?"

"The later." How could care? She was to be married in six months to some lout who lived primarily in France. Ann Marie was bubbly as could be with her chosen husband, but Catherine did not foresee a fairy tale ending. "Are you turning me in?"

"Ann would kill me. I'm making sure you get home."


	60. Lecture Series

**Lecture Series**

Catherine had never taken Mr. Holmes for an empathetic man (after all, he'd been in a whorehouse while his pregnant wife likely suffered at home), but he looked downright vengeful when she casually mentioned that the name of her long-suffering lover was Emily.

"Would you give it a rest?" she sighed as they cut through a park in the inky darkness. "You're her boss, not her father."

"No, but someone has to look out for her! Miss Francis is a brilliant young lady, and she deserves someone who respects her, not someone who treats her like this!"

The woman shrugged. "I'm not disagreeing. She does deserve better than me, but she picked me and so she can either tolerate it or find someone new."

"You give your kind a bad name, you know that?" the portly man snapped back. "She's inexperienced, she's vulnerable, she's not some plaything for you. You have three choices; treat her properly, leave her be, or be turned into the police.

She took back every kind thought she'd ever had about the man. "If you're going to continue with the lecture on morals, could I at least have a cigarette?"


	61. Gender Balance

**Gender Balance**

"If you're going to keep up that pacing," Holmes called out, strings not missing a single spot upon the violin strings. "You could at least try to keep time. The countering beats are distracting."

The girl did not look at all amused. Why should she be? The babe was currently as active as ever even as the hour hand trudged along. "I'm trying to… I don't know, settle her down or at least wear her out. You'd think she'd have to sleep at some time…" She was beginning to think that newborns slept so frequently because they tired themselves out in the womb.

The detective smirked as the woman finally settled herself back on the settee, her efforts tiring her but not her passenger. "I thought frequent activity was a good sign, a symptom of a healthy child. And lord knows he's likely restless in there. Doesn't seem to be very much leg room for the little chap…"

"She's made her point, she ought to let her mother gain reprieve sooner or later. Dear God, I think she's doing laps in there…" Ann Marie could not help but sulk. She hoped that the baby was merely getting all of it out of her system and be a patient infant…. Or as patient as infants came.

"You can stop referring to him as a girl any time, you know. You don't know what the sex will be."

"No more than you do," she shot back, temper frayed. "With you calling her a boy, someone's got to cancel you out to give her a fair chance at selection."

"Logical, sister mine."

"You're brilliant at logic, but I'd like to see you do better at this!"


	62. Disgusting Habit

**Disgusting Habit**

He told her that ladies were not supposed to smoke. She told him that his wife despised him smoking. They ended up on a park bench with two cigarettes lit with separate matches. There was silence, but silence was always broken eventually.

"Miss Francis deserves better," Mycroft finally spoke in defence of a girl who had little else to defend her. "Much better."

"And so does Ann Marie, but here we both are. When I told your little wife as much, mind, she insisted that you had gotten stuck with her and you would have loved someone better if left to your own devices. Daft thing…"

Mycroft took a long drag and reminded himself that gentlemen did not physically assault women. "Did you ever have… Well… For Ann?"

Here she snorted. "Feelings for her, you mean? Ann Marie's like a little sister to me, and unlike 'Miss Francis', I know better than to pine after someone never attainable. I looked out for Ann Marie in school, she was so thin-skinned against rumours and the like, and it was worse when her father started squandering the assets. I don't know, looking out for her kept me busy." A few quick puffs on the cigarette. "Until you took my job, of course."


	63. Dealings

**Dealings**

Mycroft did not put much faith in this badger of a lady, but she had no reason to lie about her current status. She was engaged to a man she'd met only briefly and was not fond of, and was likely going to be relocating to France. As she demonstrated, her French was terrible.

He choked on a mouthful of smoke, however, when she casually mentioned the name of her to-be. "Joshua King? Do you have any idea… No, you wouldn't, no one does… Miss, he is the middleman in the majority of the profession assassinations that occur in this city! Wait… You visit his house? Could you intercept some of his mail?"

Catherine nodded, her quick mind putting the scene together. Her fiancé arrested, her ring finger unburdened for a little while longer. Still, perhaps she could get more out of this. "What's in it for me, Holmes?"

He wasn't in the mood for bargaining. "We have male employees at Whitehall in a similar situation as you, and there are several of us in the upper ranks who help them discreetly. I can arrange a respectable courter for you to keep your parents pleased." Whitehall was a high-risk place, and the fringe benefits had to compensate for that.

A smile crept across her face. "Your last cigarette in my pocket and it's a deal, Holmes."


	64. Dutch Chocolate

**Dutch Chocolate**

They had been walking in silence since the cigarettes had run out. Mycroft did not want to take a cab. The last thing he needed was to be reported as being seen with some strange woman in the dead of the night. They were almost at the spacious house with the convenient trellis outside a certain window. He would never have another chance.

"Miss, might I ask you a rather personal question?"

She considered this briefly. "You've saved my ass twice tonight, so I suppose you're entitled to as much."

He ignored the profanity. "I know that, physically, things must be a bit more… difficult, between two females, but were the handcuffs really necessary?"

Catherine could not help but smirk with a wicked undertone. "Oh, poor man. There's precious little variety in your life."

His face flushed. "There is joy in simplicity, and if something is not broken, I see little point in fixing it."

"You seem the type to get the same flavour of ice cream every time."

"One cannot improve upon Dutch chocolate."


	65. Homecoming

**Homecoming**

Mycroft would have laughed at the scene he found in the sitting room had he not wanted to wake his wife, sound asleep on the settee under a heavy quilt or his brother, folded into an armchair and dozing. Instead, he found a blanket to drape over said brother and trudged up the stairs. He had a clear picture of what had occurred; rosin-stained fingers and a lack of embroidery told all.

His jacket smelled of smoke and he knew he would be glared at later for the deed. He hated to lie, and so he would merely omit the young woman from the evening. According to Catherine, Ann Marie knew of her preference but not of her promiscuity (which he hoped would end, for Miss Francis's sake).

Falling asleep in an empty bed was harder than he thought it would be, and he sleepily vowed to lessen his late nights at Whitehall.


	66. Removal

_AN: This is the last instalment in the definite "slash arc" so all those avoiding it can rejoin with the rest of the story. _

**Removal**

Mycroft glanced up when Emily Francis entered the office. Although he knew he should not say anything, he was too curious to resist. "Did you and your lady friend work things out?" Privately, he hoped Catherine had simply left her. It was cruel, but his employee deserved someone who knew the definition of faithfulness.

"She came to my flat and told me everything," confessed the small woman, fidgeting slightly. "I… got a little angry and all I could remember were those self-defence moves Janii taught me. I… rather accidentally may have thrown her over my shoulder and out of the apartment. I think she hit my neighbour's doorknob… I'll have to pay damages for that, but it was worth it."

The portly man surprised his own smile. "Plenty of fish in the sea, Miss Francis. Now get back to work. Those formulas won't apply themselves to that attempted assassination case."

Emily paused at the door. "Sir…? You'll be a good father."

"Work, Miss Francis!"

Privately, however, he was glad someone thought so.


	67. Silver Lining

_AN: We return to our regularly scheduled program; fluff arising from a semi-arranged marriage and the resulting pregnancy. _

**Silver Lining**

Ann Marie had never been more miserable in her life. She felt positively bovine (even though both Dr. Elsi and Dr. Watson stated that she was in the lower range of normal), her cravings were annoying her more than her husband (she was not going to descent herself to crisps, no matter what the little empress within her demanded), her back pained with each movement, her feet ached constantly (plodding about the house in stockings felt so… debauched, for some reason), she'd had another, albeit mild, dizzy spell, and there were still two full months to go.

On the other hand, Mycroft was being an absolute dear.

"Where did you learn this…?" she all but purred as his large, powerful hands kneaded her back and shoulders with the right amount of pressure to soothe the burning muscles hidden beneath cloth and skin. She felt ready to simply melt into him.

"Books," he shrugged simply. "I saw you in pain and decided to do a little research on pressure points and muscle distribution." He made it sound as if learning what was a career for some had been as simple as picking up a salve at the chemist's.

She was too grateful to be amazed, and so she merely closed her eyes and let him be brilliant.


	68. Tossed Salad and Scrambled Eggs

**Tossed Salad and Scrambled Eggs**

Holmes was one for squirreling away information until precisely the right time. It was a fun hobby, better by far than collecting stamps, and it bothered Scotland Yard to no end, which only encouraged the habit. He had not told Watson he had a brother for a very long time, he had not told his brother until five minutes before the fact that the school had wanted him to do his class's graduation speech, and he still had not yet told his sister-in-law that her husband could cook.

Mycroft had simply sent him a note one day. S. - Don't tell the girl I can cook. - M. Elaboration at a later date had revealed his reasoning; it was their early days and the poor chit was feeling quite useless. She was a marvellous cook, and adored being able to do something for him, and if she knew he was quite a good cook in his own right, it would simply crush her again.

And he'd kept the information for a good year, but now he was bored and wished to stir up a bit of martial discussion. He stopped into the Holmes household after a trip to the tobacconist fairly late in the evening. The girl was eating at the table.

"Mycroft had to leave," she informed him, not commenting on the odd dinner food of curried scrambled eggs, fried tomatoes, and Lincolnshire sausages accompanied by a green salad. Watson had mentioned an increase in appetite (a healthy development for one as peckish as her at that point).

"He can cook, you know."

"Oh, I know," she quipped, taking a bite of the crisp vegetable. "Or rather, I found out tonight. Do you think I knew how to make curried eggs?"

He had also not told Lestrade about the object he had hidden under his desk. That would be amusing once he decided to move about the furniture.


	69. Ahead of the Curve

**Ahead of the Curve**

It was April, and following a lull in crime (no one seemed to want to kill anyone when it was pouring down rain), Scotland Yard had set to a bit of spring cleaning.

Inspector Lestrade was ahead of the curve. So many men strained themselves and pulled out their backs shoving the huge, solid desks around with all their mess inside it. Not him; he had been intelligent enough to clean out the desk first to make it reasonably lighter before he moved it to clean underneath (he had filled up several waste bins full of the junk, including a few memos dating back to when Mr. Holmes had been dead).

Sufficiently lightened of his past workloads, the desk slid agreeably when pushed with enough force, skidding back to send something rattling to the floor, jarred loose of the drawer supports.

Lestrade squinted, kneeling to fish it out from the dark grime. His hand closed around thick hair and a pair of bright blue eyes stared blankly up at him. A scream echoed about the Scotland Yard corridors.

Watson scowled upon reading the resulting bitter letter. He had wondered why one of Holmes's invoices had come from Madame Tussard's. _Ought to be a law about who they can sell old parts to…_


	70. Kin

**Kin**

Heather Holmes was lucky enough to live outside the London limelight where her name would not automatically associate her with Sherlock Holmes. True, he was her brother-in-law… Technically her cousin-in-law, but Sherrinford Holmes had spent the majority of his childhood living like a brother to the more famous Holmeses, and as such she considered Ann Marie to be a sister-in-law.

Poor thing, no mother or female relative at her side as she approached the hardest ordeal she'd ever undertake, and too young to have close friends who had given birth. As a mother of three, it was her duty to tell her the truth, nothing more and nothing less. She did not want to scare her, but she did have to be frank.

Mycroft appreciated his cousin's wife keeping correspondence with his own, but he often wondered why Ann Marie would never show him the letters afterwards…

_The hardest part is over after that. You mustn't feel awful if you don't feel up to holding or feeding the baby right away; bringing it into the world is enough for the meantime. Remember, I'll be by your side at the time and I'll take care of the darling. And rest assured, you'll have plenty of time to get your revenge upon your husband afterwards, but calling him to your side to strangle him during the labour only wastes strength._

I'm sure Mycroft will understand, as he's always been such a dear.

In love,  
Heather 


	71. Kind Dreams

_AN: Sorry for the very, very sparse updates lately; I'm just settling into university and the horrors that are midterms. Hopefully once those pass, I should be a bit more frequent. So to tide you over, here's a rather long drabble._

**Kind Dreams**

Watson was the silent observer in the room, knowing his place within the domain of women was to be all but furniture. Besides, even as a medical man he could not put into the discussion of childbearing and the like.

The two women chattering were similar despite a gap in age. Both were blonde and rather beautiful, which was more so being a matter of personal taste. The elder's hair was more of a natural honey, however, the younger's a light, stark gold (though it had time to darken with age).

The younger was also the one whose nerves were disintegrating. "Oh, I'm not going to be able to do this…" she half-moaned, fair face crumpling with helplessness. Her sentiments had been echoed by young mothers many times before.

"Ann Marie, darling, you will," soothed her friend, drawing her into an embrace. "I'll be by your side from start to finish, and we'll make it through, won't we…?"

She inhaled deeply, trying to catch the last threads of her confidence. "Thank you, Mrs. Watson…"

"How many times have I ordered you to call me…"

"Mary."

Holmes looked up from his desk to where Watson had fallen asleep on the couch. The man had awoken with a violent start, a familiar name escaping his lips. The detective merely bowed his head back down to his papers. It was cruel really, for a person to have dreams like that; all had to wake up eventually.


	72. Paradox

**Paradox**

Ann Marie woke late after a night of tentative hovering around the water closet. Her nausea was gone now, however, and replaced with pangs of hunger, multiplied by the smells wafting from downstairs. She dressed quickly, descending the stairs and poking her head into the kitchen.

Mycroft was there, glancing towards her as he handed her a plate; an omelette, sausages, toast with thick chutney… Heavenly.

She smiled appreciatively, leading him to the dining room as he took up his own breakfast. "I love you, but this really has to stop."

His large face creased, looking slightly hurt. "I thought you liked my cooking."

"I do, but a bit too much," she sighed, turning to kiss his cheek. "I've gained another three pounds. My dresses are all starting to get tight again. I'm never going to lose it if these keeps up."

"Some extra weight is healthy for childbearing," he soothed, sitting across the table from her, digging into his breakfast. If he picked at his food, she would do the same. "Besides, if you don't lose it, it'll only mean your bird hips won't be forever bruising me."

She scowled, nevertheless cutting into the sausages. They smelled too good to sulk over. "Sherlock and Dr. Watson are coming for dinner, as I mentioned last week." The anniversary of his wife's death was a more pressing matter than her self-image, and she did not want to man to feel alone for a moment.


	73. Squares

**Squares**

"Didn't think I'd ever say this, but I pity Mr. Mycroft Holmes," murmured Lestrade, throwing himself down into his wooden desk chair. His wet jacket was making a lake of the floor.

Gregson looked up, glaring slightly at the noise but curious nonetheless. "Why?"

"Why do I pity him or why did I never think I'd say it?"

"Both, perhaps?"

"In which order?"

The man reigned in a growl, returning to his paperwork. Really, he should have known better than to give the rat an open stage.

Undeterred by the fellow Yarder's indifference and aggression, the damp man crossed his arms. "I never thought I'd say it because he's got to be the luckiest chap there is. Smartest man in England, maybe in the world, cushy job for as long as he wants it, paid-off house, and a beauty of a wife with hands not to pretty to be beneath making a good pot roast."

Another restrained growl; Lestrade had been invited to the Holmes household for dinner once and had not ceased name-dropping since. "Why do you pity him now, then?"

"Apparently, the pretty wife is prone to a bit of child-bearing temper. I went in to get notes requested by Holmes the younger. I suppose I muddied the hallway a bit… She hollered at me, threatened to murder me, then gave me a package of sweet squares. … Good squares, really."

Gregson hoped Mrs. Holmes had possessed the brains to poison them.


	74. TELEGRAPH WIRES

**TELEGRAPH WIRES**

The telegraph had interrupted their Sunday lunch, and was quite to the point.

HOLmES STOP. ROSE ENTERED LABOUR STOP. SITUATION NORMAL SO FAR STOP. WILL REPORT WITH DETAILS WHEN THEY DEVELOP STOP. MA END.

Michael Abbot always became horribly bureaucratic when he was nervous, and the birth of ones first child could be rather nerve-racking.

Rose Abbot was the only friend Ann Marie had of childbearing age, and being just under two months ahead of her, had served as her guide through the early months even though Rose hardly knew more than the younger woman. She had chosen her family's country estate over London for her confinement, and the separation, despite frequent letters, set the blonde on edge now.

She barely slept that night. As she picked at breakfast the next morning, the maid brought the second telegraph.

BABY BOY BORN AT THREE IN THE MORNING STOP. WEIGHT JUST OVER FOUR KILOS STOP. BABY IS HEALTHY STOP. MOTHER IS SIMILAR BUT WISHES TO KILL ME STOP. MA END.


	75. Proximity

**Proximity**

"I want you to be there."

Mycroft glanced away from his papers and towards his wife. She was beside him on the settee, a quilt about her shoulders despite the summer month (she had been complaining constantly of hot flashes followed by chills), tea and night snack set aside.

He personally could think of nothing more disgusting than blueberry jam on toast and then scrambled eggs on top of it, but for his safety he had said nothing.

"Be where?" he questioned, abandoning his work. The hour was growing late, he could finish it in the morning.

"Here. When the baby comes." Her husband has tried to talk her into birthing in a hospital, but she despised them and insisted against it, even Mycroft admitted eventually that her comfort was paramount to his. "I don't want to be alone. I know you can't be in the same room, but I want you close, not for you to bugger off to the club."

Bugger off… Strong language for her. "You won't be alone," he comforted, resting his hand on her swollen belly. "Heather and Rose will be in the room for you, and I swear I'll be within earshot the entire time." It would be hard for him to hear her pain, but if it soothed her he would stay.

He could feel movement beneath his palm, restless shifting, perhaps plotting to escape. Not even two months to go, and still there was no Zen-like calm he had expected to wash over him. He did not feel in the least prepared… On the bright side, however, all the books said that was perfectly normal.


	76. Classification

**Classification**

Mycroft recognized the handwriting immediately. "Mrs. Abbot has recovered enough to write," he noted, entering the back garden. They had made little use of it last year, but in her confinement Ann Marie had wanted it to be beautiful and had it landscaped and dotted with flowers as well as a beautiful table and chairs set.

A place for the children to play, she'd commented dreamily at the time.

"She named him Henry Ambrose, isn't that so… perfect?" she sighed, that same dreaming expression becoming present now. "She says he looks more like his father, but perhaps she's modest… Oh, I can't wait to see him! Henry Ambrose…" The dreamy look began to fade a bit. "Of course, she didn't have _requirements_ set in place…"

"You haven't decided on a name," he put in, knowing he'd regret mentioning it.

As expected, she pouted. "I've narrowed the field. Then added to it. Then narrowed again… I almost hope it's a boy, but I just feel… Emmeline. Emmeline Holmes fits, doesn't it? Or does Evangeline sound best? Or too French? But you have French roots… Cresenthia. It sounds like a flower, but I looked it up and it's not. I wouldn't give a child a flower name, no offence to Rose, perhaps for a middle name, but… Valanora is out all together…"

"Elizabeth" or "Jane" was becoming more and more ideal.


	77. Progeny

**Progeny **

"I merely think she'd be safer in a hospital, with specialists on call," Mycroft protested, not sparing time for an introduction as Mrs. Hudson entered the door. "She'll listen to you, at least bring up the topic."

"You've brought it up and she's refused," the woman stated calmly with a long-suffering sigh. She knew she should not have gotten involved with the matter, but Dr. Watson had prodded her into giving the girl a close-by source for answered questions. Poor thing, no mother to help her through it…

"But you're a woman, you've had children, she'll take your word over mine by basis of experience. I would put me at ease if she were in proper care."

"Mr. Holmes, this is about her ease, not yours, and I cannot blame the girl for wanting the privacy and comfort of her own home rather than a noisy institution where disease can run rampant in…" She paused, eyes narrowing. "How did you know I had a son?"

"Sherlock told me. I was not aware it was a secret, so I briefly looked into him." The large man paused, offering a polite smile. "A lawyer, a very successful one. You must be proud."

She made a small noise, breezing past him to the sitting room. She would not even bring up the topic of a hospital birth; childbed fever seemed so much rarer in an actual bed, ironically enough.


	78. Migration

**Migration**

It had not been planned, not one bit of it. She'd been seventeen, he'd been nineteen, and they hadn't meant for it to happen but it had. She was ashamed to say that she'd never expected to see him again after she told him. To his sex's credit, Randall Hudson had married her whole-heartedly and swept her off to England.

He had an uncle in England, one who could give him a good job as a type-setter. "The moors pull so many people down," he'd murmured on the train, watching the last of the Scottish landscape whip by. His family had been barrel-makers, but their true business was in grainy alcohol. He'd wanted much more for their child.

The generous uncle doted upon his nephew. They were given a house, though when they'd moved in it was more of a hovel. The foundation and walls and floors were all solid, however, and bit by bit they cleaned it up.

James was born healthy and content. They tried for more, but two more term births and countless failures between made it all too obvious it was not to happen. Martha Hudson looked on the bright side; the saved money went towards a decent school, a fund for his education. He was a bright boy from the start.

Randall died a mercifully quick death, a quick haemorrhage of the brain and that was that for him, but his wife had grieved terribly. But James had been in university, and she would not let him leave that, and so she cleared the top floor of the house they had tended to together and she placed a Rent ad in the paper.


	79. Hired Help

**Hired Help**

James Hudson glanced distastefully around the sitting room of 221a. "Mother, this is embarrassing, there's no other way to put this. You're their maid!"

"I'm glad you show such reverence for the two men that put you through university." She did not know where he had developed this sense of self-importance. Because he had money now, perhaps he felt entitled to make certain people knew that.

"I'm grateful for the sacrifices you made, but you don't have to live this way any longer. Please, come live with me. You can have your own servants, never have to clean or cook again. I'm a junior partner in my firm now, I want to repay you."

"You have. You're successful." Mrs. Hudson heaved up the laundry basket. "James, I love you, but I'm quite happy here. Being a maid, if that's what it means."

Practically turning his nose up, he turned on his heel without another word, nearly bowling over the lean man coming in.

"Who was that unpleasant individual?" sniffed Holmes with a roll of the eyes, although he knew perfectly well.


	80. Approaching Appointment

**Approaching Appointment**

"Spalding?" questioned Watson, setting down his pen. It had been a week and a half since they had gotten what Holmes considered to be a worthwhile case. Now apparently they were due for a trip out to the country.

"Mm, a way's away, but a kidnapping threat is nothing to ignore, especially not when the Pirellis have deep purses and are not adverse to rewarding those who help them." He strode to his desk, consulting the calendar, flipping ahead as the days had changed from May 31st to June 1st. He then paused. A day noted in the usual pen, yet underlined.

June 29th, Anticipated Delivery Date.

"I think I shall ask Mycroft if he wishes to accompany us." His tone was consistent, not a hint of apprehension, of fear that his brother's time was about to be very much monopolized. "It is too important a case to fail at; James Pirelli will drag me through the dirt and you won't be able to hawk my adventures in penny dreadfuls."

The doctor made a noise slightly questioning, for the younger should have known better than to interest Mycroft Holmes in field work, yet knowing what a younger sibling knew, he argued the matter no further.


	81. Fraternity

**Fraternity**

"Sherlock should have no difficulties with a standard kidnapping case, no matter how influential the client. He has never cared overly about his reputation before," muttered Mycroft, a frown set on his face. If there was one puzzle he could never solve, it was his brother. "He knows I disdain departure from my routine, let alone my city, so what possible motivation could he have for inviting me along on this case?"

Ann Marie sighed as she looked up from her novel. She was sitting up in bed, housecoat drawn around her nightgown-clad form. Of course, it failed to cover her stomach now, not a fact she enjoyed dwelling on. "Honestly, for such a genius you can be entirely daft. It's not about the case at all, Mycroft. Sherlock wants to spend time with you."

His frown only deepened as he eased himself into his side of the bed. "And why would he want to do that?"

"Because he is your little brother and he enjoys your company. He likely thinks that once the baby is born you'll be less available and wants one more guaranteed outing with you before that happens." She kissed his cheek, giving his ear a teasing tug. "I think you should go."

If Ann Marie was encouraging him to spend time with his wayward brother, that surely was a sign he should. Glancing down, he pulled the covers up far enough to cover her stomach.

"I'm not cold," his wife commented.

"Well, perhaps Hypatia is."

"For the last time, we are _not_ naming her that!"


	82. Be Back Soon

**Be Back Soon**

Mycroft suspected that over the years he would develop a sore neck from craning down to kiss his wife's forehead, although hopefully there would not be too many more pregnancies to prevent her from going on tiptoe to at least meet him.

Impishly, she nuzzled his neck even though it was highly improper for the entryway. "Have fun," she more ordered than wished. "I'll see you when you get in, don't bother trying not to wake me for you will no matter what."

He made a noise that was more positive than negative, wondering just how much fun he could have on such a tedious venture. But although he did not devote himself to many, those Mycroft Holmes deemed his own he looked after, and if that meant soothing an ego with a pointless trip to the countryside, so be it.

As he often did not, his hand rested briefly on her middle and he silently considered another name, his heart now set on something Greek. "Please, nothing too strenuous."

"I promise to behave. Have a safe journey!" As he headed out, Ann Marie held the door open a crack, parting with an off-handed but yet hopeful "Love you...!" When there was no response (for he mustn't have heard), she closed the door. Nothing to strenuous... She could manage that, with her sewing and her Siamese and her panging backache to occupy herself with.


	83. Ignorance is Bliss

**Ignorance is Bliss**

Mrs. Martha Hudson was a patient, tender woman, but at the moment she felt like grabbing Mrs. Holmes by the hair and dragging her to her childbed.

She'd come by to visit, knowing that her lodgers had torn her husband out of his comfortable existence and knowing the loneliness that came with the combination of an empty nest and pregnancy emotions. The child had been glad to see her, yet gave a half-mock frown when asked how she was holding up.

"I've had a backache since I woke, though it comes and goes," she admitted with a shrug. "Almost periodically, but just another ache. And I think I have indigestion, though I blame myself for indulging in eggs in hollandaise sauce this morning…"

The landlady's stomach flipped over, similar to the feeling she had when she heard the clinking of Mr. Holmes's test tubes. "Mrs. Holmes, cramps that come and go periodically? And a feeling of indigestion?" She stressed each syllable slowly, knowing the silly woman had read extensively on every stage of pregnancy.

Ann Marie nodded, oblivious. "Yes, very periodically."

"Say, you could almost _time_ them?"

There was a long silence, which was finally broken when the blonde's eyes grew as wide as saucers and she let out a panicked yelp that caused the maid to drop the tea tray in the next room.


	84. Fish in the Sea

**Fish in the Sea**

"This isn't supposed to happen for another month…!"

"Babies don't have timetables, now just wait here and try to eat something while I find those addresses."

Marco Polo did not entirely dislike Mrs. Hudson, seeing as she rather enjoyed cats, which was the only reason his claws did not fly when the woman almost stepped on his tail in her hurry. He'd heard the yelp, and he was not so dense as to not know what was happening. Honestly, he'd expected it to happen sooner. Humans claimed to be superior, yet they took so much time reproducing.

He padded into the sitting room, leaping into his mistress's lap. Her stomach felt odd, tighter than usual. That confirmed it; her litter was coming. No, her baby. Humans called it a baby. He wondered if they were born with their eyes open. Usually, he would have begged for bits of her tuna sandwich, but instead he slunk to perch on the end table, pushing the plate further towards her. She'd need her strength.

The woman gathered him in her arms, squeezing him a bit too tight. "Oh, Marco… He'll get here in time, won't he, darling…?"

The Siamese gave a non-committal meow in response, reaching out to give the plate another bat in her direction. If he wasn't, maybe she would reconsider the sire next time.


	85. Adequate Control

**Adequate Control**

Martha Hudson had not only undergone the process of birth more times than she cared to remember (not because of the physical pain; it was the grief that only one child had survived that smarted her soul), and added to that, she'd witnessed enough births since her sister ended up giving her a niece in the postmaster's office when the new aunt had only been twelve to know what the task entailed.

Within minutes, she laid hands on the three addresses she needed. "I need two messages to the telegraph office, and one can go by messenger," she ordered the two maids behind her, both of which looked a bit panicked, as she snatched a pad and a pen and wrote in her neat script. "This goes to Dr. Elsi's practise, be sure to tip the messenger well. These need to be telegraphed to Mrs. Sherrinford Holmes, she's to be here to help Mrs. Holmes, and this is to the address Dr. Watson said they were going to."

"Right, ma'am," volunteered the older of the two, all but snatching the papers and taking off out the door, her fellow employee looking somewhat jealous of her escape.

"You, put old sheets on the lady's bed, would you? And gather old fabric in case we need it. Afterwards, make sure there are plenty of ice chips in the box. I'll take care of the girl."

"You're to deliver?!" exclaimed the younger woman, blinking. "And how do you know it will be a girl?"

"I'll take care of the _mother_! And Dr. Elsi is just across town, believe me, the honour is all his." Having too little time would not be a concern, if her prior experience rung true. The main problem would be the young mother's endurance and tolerance for pain.

From the way she was currently moaning in the sitting room, she had a feeling the later was less than ideal.


	86. Premature Conclusion

**Premature Conclusion**

"The parents did it," Mycroft sighed as the three scanned the threatened girl's rooms.

His brother shot him a look, replacing a layer of jewellery box. "You're saying that her parents are threatening to kidnap her and demand ransom of themselves?"

"I'm saying that Miss Pirelli had another suitor she was more fond of." He gestured towards the letters on her desk, a youthful stationary but not the handwriting of her intended. "She keeps these letters, but not the ones of the man she is to marry? And look at the quality; he is better off than the man she is already promised to, a motivation for her parents to politely end the engagement and take this new, better offer, but of course there is no polite way to do so."

"Why would they threaten a kidnapping?" Watson questioned. He was honestly startled; they had been there less than half an hour. It was not going to make a very interesting story.

"They intend to accuse her intended's family with minimal proof. You noted the notes were smudged with distinctive pollen? Likely from the Peterson's estate, they've read the doctor's stories. It will cause such a row the engagement will be assumed to be broken, and then they are free to pursue the more profitable venture. Can we leave now?"

"Of course we can't leave now! We're going to confirm the pollen and question the Petersons. And find the name of the new suitor!" Blasted Mycroft, he always solved everything in the blink of an eye without seeing the fun in the chase...

When that chase led them to the Peterson manor, the telegraph being delivered just missed them.


	87. Avuncular

**Avuncular**

It had been a slow stalk through the grounds to confirm what Mycroft already knew; "evidence" had been lifted from the house, and the only motivation for that would be to fake a crime.

"I am sorry my adventures are not as thrilling as Sherlock's, doctor," the large man sighed as they departed from the carriage at their original location. "But there is a reason he graces the pages of the Strand and not I."

Watson imagined Ann Marie might have something to say if her husband garners admirers the way Holmes did, but it was left unsaid when one of the footmen all but assaulted them when they stepped into the entryway, shoving a telegram at the doctor.

Fumbling with it, he did not wish to speak of its contents. "Mycroft… We need to depart as soon as possible. You are to be a father a bit earlier than expected."

Honestly, Holmes had been trying to lighten the mood for his brother, who looked to be frozen in the process of having cold water thrown over him; even he never would have suggested otherwise save in jest. "It will take forever, you know. Might as well finish up here first before…"

Mycroft had never been one for jokes. Huge hands had him by the collar in a split second. "Sherlock, I love you as much as any brother ever did, but _so help me_ if my wife has to give birth alone I will never speak to you again as long as we both shall _live_." Releasing him, he stormed back towards the carriage, hollering over his shoulder to the bemused clients "Just tell the poor boy she's marrying someone else!"


	88. As Expected

**As Expected**

Dr. Elsi almost expected Mrs. Ann Marie Holmes to be one of those women who were expected to wail and suffer through their labour but in actuality were overtaken with tranquility and silent determination when the time came. Thankfully, he had not put any money on that prediction.

He cringed as he entered the door in the middle of a shriek, nothing the cream and brown cat cowering in the closet when the maid took his coat. Mrs. Hudson met him on the stairs, and he was immediately glad that someone in the house knew what they were doing. "Is there a complication?"

"Not one," the woman sighed, resisting from rolling her eyes. It was her first time, and she was frightened without her husband near. "Hopefully the baby has her strong lungs…" The landlady glanced up at the clock. Four o'clock already… "I sent a message to Mr. Mycroft, he should be on his way here by now… And to her sister-in-law, of sorts, she responded before boarding to say she was coming. She's nowhere near delivery yet, doctor, they should make it in plenty of time for the main event."

"It will be a long night then," murmured Elsi, a pang of sympathy for the girl. He ordered the maid to put one some tea; nothing to do at the moment but keep his patient calm.


	89. No Smoking

**No Smoking**

"I can't understand why Mycroft bothers to move to another car to smoke," commented Holmes, lighting a cigarette of his own in blatant disregard of the very firm sign on the wall.

"Perhaps because he has an ounce more common courtesy than you," Watson suggested with a sigh. There was also the possibility that the man wanted some time in solitary thought. He had never had the chance to be a parent himself, but he had seen many men on the brink of fatherhood and apprehension seemed to be a common factor.

The detective smoked in silence for a bit, finally gathering up the nerve to speak again. "… She will be alright, won't she, Watson?" He looked unusual, as if trying to express something and at the same time reign it in.

He should have been surprised at the concern, and yet he was not. "Dr. Elsi is experienced in delivering, and there were no expected complications."

"That's not an answer." He moodily stubbed out his cigarette not even half burnt.

"I'm afraid this is one of the times where no one truly has the answer."


	90. Sisterly Care

**Sisterly Care**

Heather Holmes had entered in the flurry, terrified that something horrible must have happened between her receiving the telegram and her arrival in London. She was updated quickly; Mycroft was still absent, the contractions had been persisting for at least six hours, and Ann Marie was not yet even so dilated as to qualify for the first full stage of labour, her water remaining unbroken.

"Not a lucky one, is she?" the squire's wife sighed with a cringe of sympathy. She was the girl's family at the moment, no matter how distant. "But then, she's a month early…"

"A good size, though, the baby should be healthy enough," put in Dr. Elsi, ever the optimistic. "We had her walking to prompt it, but nothing. There's not even show yet, but I'll give it some time before I…"

There came a cry of not pain but surprise from upstairs, following by more moaning.

"… Never mind," he sighed as the substitute sister bolted up the stairs, likely to assure Mrs. Holmes that she wasn't about to die.


	91. Briefing

**Briefing**

Heather all but assaulted Mycroft when he barged in through the front door, coming very close to giving him a good knock with the bowl she was refilling with chips of ice. "Where have you been?! Don't give me any of that top secret government nonsense, your wife has been wailing for seven and a half hours with you nowhere to be seen!"

"I could hardly have made the train go any faster," he snapped back, watery eyes anxious and regretful. "How is she? How far along? What's happening?"

"Six centimetres in, water's broken, no sign of crowning yet. There's been nothing out of the ordinary, she's doing just fine."

A piercing scream rang through the upstairs hallway, followed the landlady's harsh "Stop that! It's not doing any good!"

"You call that just fine?" Mycroft all but growled, tossing his coat at his brother, tentatively trailing him with the doctor. "I want to see her."

"You're not really supposed to…" She trailed off as the man marched up the stairs, no doubt to take his fight up with Dr. Elsi. Sighing, Mrs. Holmes glanced at Holmes and Watson, looking respectively stunned and apologetic. "And just how was your day so far?"


	92. Belated

**Belated**

Dr. Elsi had given the man five minutes. He had only let him in because the man towered over him and had the instinctive look of protection in his eyes and he only barred him from staying because he looked like a potential fainter, and not one who would be easy to drag out of the way if he did.

"Ann…!" Mycroft exclaimed, dropping into the chair beside the bed, pausing a moment to take her in. An old nightdress, blonde hair tied hastily up but coming loose and frazzled, face red and beaded with sweat. "I'm so sorry…"

"It's not your fault, things just happened earlier than expected." She tried to smile, even though she ached all over in the absence of the blinding contractions.

"The doctor says you're doing beautifully."

The girl scoffed, glancing away in painful awareness of how she looked. "There's nothing beautiful about this."

He kissed her forehead, giving her hand a squeeze for strength. "The result will be. You can get through this." He kissed her again, and without thinking sighed "You have to get through this, I love you too much for you not to."

When Dr. Elsi finally shooed him out, Ann Marie hoped he knew that had eased her pains more than any amount of ether or morphine could, which was helpful considering she felt as if she were being torn into quarters.


	93. Trials

**Trials **

"The doctor would have let him stay if you'd asked him," Heather said gently, taking her place at the girl's side once more, letting her take her hand as another contraction took over her.

Ann Marie fell back cringing and panting after it had ended, tears welling in her eyes once more. "I know… But he shouldn't have to see me like this. It's degrading. And it hurts him."

The woman dipped a cloth in cool water, wringing it and dapping at her face. "Lie back now, until the next one. They should start coming a bit quicker with any luck. If it comforted you, you should have kept him here. His feelings should be the least of your consideration right now. Anyone would forgive you for a bit of selfishness at the moment." True, her husband had only been present for the birth of their latest… Or at least tried to be; he'd slumped beside the bed when she'd started crowning and been ushered out when he'd finally recovered.

She only shrugged, cherishing the reprieve between contractions. Ann Marie knew how silly her own intentions sounded. From the time of her birth she'd been coddled by others; Mycroft had treated her with kid gloves from the moment they'd been married. She was never forced towards independence. This was something she had to do on her own.


	94. Impatience

**Impatience**

The hour was growing late and the sky had since gone dark. Holmes had absolutely no idea where the idea of impending fathers knocking back liquor like water, for the glass he had poured for his brother of stiff brandy had barely been touched.

Watson was abstaining as well, but he had a reason; if Dr. Elsi needed another doctor, he wanted to have an entirely clear head. He suspected that Mycroft simply knew that alcohol would do nothing to calm his nerves.

The large man was growing ever restless, first beginning to drum his fingers before pacing (previously unthinkable), only to slump back in his chair in a mood to start the whole routine once more in several minutes.

When Mrs. Hudson descended the stairs for yet more ice (chips to keep her hydrated, larger chunks to keep cold compresses handy), she was submitted to his grey glare.

"It's taking too long!" he all but growled, snapping shut his pocket watch. "Average time for a first delivery is eight hours, it should be done by now! There's something wrong, I just know it, I…"

"She, or the baby rather, is beginning to crown. Dr. Elsi has confirmed that it will be able to pass safely without medical intervention, mostly due to the fact that it is premature. If you have any complaints about how long it is taking, I suggest you take your complaints to your wife and see how kindly she takes being told to hurry up!"


	95. Repetition

**Repetition**

"Lord…" groaned the girl, face pinched into an unfamiliar mask of pain and fatigue. "Why does any woman ever do this twice…?"

"It's easier the second time," Mrs. Hudson assured her. The girl was squeezing her hand with all her might, which after hours of labour did not amount to enough to cause any hurt. "Almost done now, just a bit longer."

"Getting ready for the one that matters," advised the doctor, trying to be gentle but raising his voice to make sure he was heard. "Just twice more, I promise, and you'll barely feel the second one. Alright now, just…"

She hardly heard or needed his instructions are this point; every raw nerve in her body was forcing her to push with all her might, to end this damn torture. She did not fall back after the first push but again nearly threw herself forward. She had never felt so much pain in her life until moments later when the string of fear cut through her chest immediately.

"Oh god, there's no crying… I…"

"Honestly, give it a moment! The doctor hasn't even yet…" Heather was cut short when a cruel yet vital smack was administered.

When the piercing cry rang through the house, Mycroft closed his eyes and sunk back into his chair, Watson breathed a sigh of relief, and Sherlock Holmes leapt to his feet only to crumple into a dead faint.


	96. Introduction

**Introduction**

Mycroft Holmes had never felt so alone in his life. Dr. Watson had dragged Sherlock off into the sitting room after initial attempts to rouse him, and now the man paced alone, simply watching the clock hand tick out seconds as if they were minutes.

He finally heard the door open and turned to see Heather, smiling broadly, a bundled blue blanket sewed lovingly by an expecting mother's hands months in advance safely in her arms. "You have a son, Mycroft. Tiny but assuredly healthy."

He was almost reluctant to take him for fear of dropping him, but his huge hands cradled the newborn with ease, brushing barely present wisps of blond hair with his fingers. The babe was still fussing gently but was calming as he was held against warmth, weak movements giving testament to his existence.

"Perfect," was all he could think to whisper, grey eyes decidedly misty as he tugged the blanket to cover the little form more thoroughly. "He's perfect."

Mrs. Hudson was tidying up the bedroom as Dr. Elsi packed his black bag, and although she felt like humming she was silent for the sake of the sleeping mother. Or at least she thought she was sleeping; the blonde woman gave a slight moan that nearly startled her.

"You'll be sore for a while yet, child."

"I'm not sore," she gasped with a cry. "It's something more. It's paining…!"


	97. Complications

**Complications**

"What's wrong…?" Ann Marie managed to get out as Dr. Elsi returned to her side in a fluster. "Oh God, something's wrong, isn't it?" Horrors flashed before her eyes; having to leave her son having only just met him...

Mrs. Hudson and the doctor were no help at all, talking amongst themselves in murmurs that she could barely hear with the blood pounding in her ears as such. She caught snippets like "… got all the ambition..." and "… would explain the excess movement…", none of which did anything to comfort her.

"Nothing's wrong," Dr. Elsi finally assured her, gently helping her move into a now familiar position. "I really do apologize for this, should have caught it but it's common not to… Of course, they'll only be one charge…"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" she finally barked out, patience and energy gone.

"Remember when I said the second one would be easier?" apologized Mrs. Hudson, offering her hand. At least this one seemed to have a firm schedule.


	98. Reprise

**Reprise**

Sherlock Holmes awoke to a sharp smell, which turned out to be Mrs. Hudson waving smelling salts under his nose as she stated "Are you with us…?" At his nod, she continued "You've been out nearly twenty minutes. We rather forgot about you, I'm afraid. I don't quite know how you slept through the racket."

"Is she alright?" he demanded, attempting to stand and regaining his balance. He felt a goose egg forming on his head. Seeing her nod, he strode past her, making for the study. "Mycroft…! The child…?" When he opened the office door and saw the blanket of blue cradled in Watson's arms, he opened his mouth for a declaration of his superior intelligence. When his eyes fell upon Mycroft, protectively clutching a similar bundle of pink, it all disintegrated.

"Children, my dear boy," his brother spoke, riding slowly as if he were bearing all of the crown jewels. "Children."

Holmes did not want to take the baby, he had no clue what to do with one, yet he could not find it within him to speak to refuse it. As he looked down at blonde hair he hoped would darken and bleary grey eyes he knew would not, he finally smiled. "Hello, girl. … Your brother will be a famous detective some day, you know."

As he eventually traded siblings with his dearest friend after Mycroft had gone to sit with his wife, Watson whispered to the poor girl "Don't worry; if he keeps that attitude, I'm sure we can make you a wonderful doctor."


	99. Announcing

__

**Mr. and Mrs. Mycroft Sigerson Holmes II are pleasantly surprised to announce the birth of their twins, boy Mycroft Sigerson III, born at 11:30 on June Fifth, weighing four pounds, three ounces. He was shortly succeeded by sister Aesara Martha, born at 11:50 of the same day (although it was a close call), weighing five pounds, one ounce.**

**The new parents would like to thank their doctor, Dr. R. Elsi, and family friend Mrs. Martha Hudson, and wish to let all friends and family know that the twins are healthy and doing well, although it was commented that, both having blond hair and grey eyes, they will be difficult to tell apart at a glance unless kept in respective colours once they catch up in size.**

**Well-wishes are sent from the one present grandmother, Mrs. Violet Holmes (whereabouts currently uncertain), uncles Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John H. Watson, extended family Mr. and Mrs. Sherrinford Holmes, the "Constant Companion" magazine, to which Mrs. Ann Marie Holmes is a contributor, and the staff of Whitehall, Mr. Mycroft's long time place of employment.**

**__  
**

Ann Marie gave a groan as she closed her eyes, letting the paper fall. "Why did you entrust Sherlock with delivering the announcement…?"

Mycroft, trying to get a good enough hold on his wriggling daughter to assure himself that he would not drop her, was less phased. "If this is the oddest part of their first year, consider them lucky for Holmes children."


	100. Contented

**Contented**

It could have ended so horribly; had she given birth in winter, had there been complications in the delivery as there so often was with twins, had she gone into labour a week earlier, had any number of things been different she might have been wearing black a week later, but instead she wore yellow as she sat out in the garden, loyal Marco Polo curled in her lap, daughter in her arms and son in her husband's. Dr. Elsi had recommended some exposure to the sun to starve off jaundice, and the weather had allowed this.

They had taken their lunch out there, cream cheese and red pepper jelly sandwiches and some of the fine tea Scotland Yard had sent as a gift. The twins had lunched on milk, of course, Sara before they had ventured out to the garden and Myke now; he was too small to feed naturally yet, but despite his mother's initial panic Mrs. Hudson showed them it was easy enough to have him suckle a sterile syringe of milk until he caught up with his sister. Ann Marie was insistent upon natural milk, but had a feeling they would introduce it in bottles soon for the sake of propriety in public. There were parts of her body only her husband and her doctor needed to see, after all.

Mycroft looked so odd and yet so natural, his namesake in the crock of his arm, feeding and then tending to him delicately, his comfort with the babies steadily increasing. He noticed his wife watching and arched an eyebrow. "Something amiss?" he questioned, still ever vigilant about her health even after she had left her childbed. After all, an ordeal like that took its toll, and while Ann had been pleased that she'd been left with little excess weight, Dr. Elsi had warned her to keep her appetite strong lest she starve herself feeding two others.

And to think, he'd believed he'd worry less once the delivery was over and done with, not to mention less than two years ago he'd thought there was no greater worry than international conflict.

"Nothing at all," was the girl's response. She had never meant anything more.

_AN: And thus marks the end of "Perpetual Anticipation". So much thanks goes out to everyone who's reviewed to both this and "The Girl". I'm still not certain if/when an actual sequel will emerge, but until then, as it states on my profile, any and all of my OCs are free to use as long as you notify me. Once again, thank you, and I hoped you enjoyed._


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